


looking for a breath of a life

by banshee_in_the_dark



Series: Love's a Witch [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Charmed, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bellarke, Darklighter, F/M, Ice Mechanic, Linctavia (minor), Whitelighter, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 05:00:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6224956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/banshee_in_the_dark/pseuds/banshee_in_the_dark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raven conjures the perfect man. It goes downhill from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	looking for a breath of a life

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! Yes, you are not imagining things, I have written something other than bellarke smut. Mind you, there’s still some bellarke here, I cannot go completely turkey cold, but the smut and the chunk of this story is reserved to Raven and her hunk of a king.
> 
> I want to ~~blame~~ thank [ HawthorneWhisperer ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/HawthorneWhisperer), [ Rumaan ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Rumaan/pseuds/) and [ Jenye ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenye/pseuds/Jenye) for pioneering onto this new shipping territory and inspiring me to join them. If Raven/Roan is a thing you’re into you should definitely go check out their pieces. I guarantee they are brilliant. 
> 
> Now, something you don’t know about me: I am Charmed trash. I have been since I was twelve years old. I have spent a decade and a half obsessing about this show and now finally, finally, I have an excuse to put my useless but extensive knowledge of it to work. If you never watched it, it’s about three sisters who find out they are not only witches, but the Charmed Ones and destined to be the greatest force of good magic. This is not supposed to be a rip-off from that, I’m just playing in that world.
> 
> You don’t need to be familiar with Charmed to get into this fic though, so you’ll be fine if you aren’t. However I want to give you some context to work with:
> 
> \- Magic is real but it is kept hidden from mortals ie. Non-magical people.
> 
> \- Whitelighters = guardian angels to witches. They guide them and help them with their mission and have the power to heal them, among other things.
> 
> \- Darklighter = anti-Whitelighter. They are BAD NEWS generally speaking, but I love drama and a good nurture over nature argument. You’ll see what I mean later.
> 
> \- Council of Elders: the superior authority on all things good and Whitelighter bosses.
> 
> \- Orbing: sort of like teleporting, with a lot of glittery bubbles of light to ease you through.
> 
> \- Shimmering: also teleporting but you sort of fade away in a ripple effect. 
> 
> \- Scrying: searching for someone or something with a map and a crystal.
> 
> Many thanks to my beta, the lovely and steadfast [ Sarah ](http://www.writingaloveaffair.tumblr.com) who helped me turn this from a grossly incoherent mass of Charmed references into an actual fic worth reading. Also, she is responsible for providing the [ soundtrack ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r0EVEXX9kpk) for this fic.

It begins, as most of the decisions Raven has come to regret often do, with a girls’ night out.

“You just need to get laid,” Octavia says, not even looking at her. She’s chewing the straw of her drink and sending some serious fuck me eyes across the bar to the muscled bartender, because Octavia believes in multitasking and can totally cheer up her friend and still make sure she doesn’t end the night alone.

“Yeah, casual sex is exactly what you need,” Clarke agrees. “Pick a guy. Any guy,” she gestures broadly around them to the packed club.

Raven rolls her eyes, knocking back her shot and signaling their bartender for another round. “This is the exact advice you gave me last year and the reason I started fucking Wick. Now I’m trying to get over Wick. Do I need to elaborate why I think this is a bad idea?”

The other two glance at each other. “Yeah, maybe,” Octavia concedes.

Clarke snorts. “It was never casual with Wick. You work together. That’s what went wrong last time.” She sits up straight in her stool and looks around shrewdly before settling down on an interesting prospect. “Okay, dark and handsome at two o’clock is really into you,” she says. “And he’s very, um,” Clarke blushes and arches an eyebrow. “ _Creative._ He has very specific ideas of what he wants to do to you.”

Her interest piqued, Raven sneaks a discreet look. The guy is easy on the eyes, closed cropped dark hair in contrast with fair skin and shinning amber eyes. He’s definitely checking her out, fully aware that she is too. He winks at her.

“Hey, if you’re using your powers to get her laid, the least you can do is tell me if Lincoln is into me,” Octavia protests, scowling.

Clarke fixes her with an indulgent smile. “Sweetie, I don’t need to be a telepath to know Lincoln wants to fuck you.”

“Then why won’t he,” she laments, pouting in Lincoln’s general direction.

“Can we focus on me please? I want to know more about that creative imagination of his,” Raven insists, still involved in a staring contest with the handsome stranger.

Clarke focuses her gaze on the guy once more, tilting her head slightly to the side. He seems to preen under the scrutiny of both girls, puffing out his chest and smugness practically clouding around him. Raven is unimpressed and if anything, her attraction for him dwindles. “No, forget it,” Clarke says finally. “He has a girlfriend. He’s not even thinking about her, but she’s there, I can feel it.”

Raven makes a disgusted sound. “Scumbag.”

Octavia toasts to that and they both down another shot.

Clarke narrows her eyes, still concentrating on the guy.

“I know that look. What are you doing?” Octavia says in a hurried hush. “Clarke.”

“Relax. I’m not torturing him mentally or anything,” she assures them. “Just making him see a little montage of his best memories with his girlfriend to make him feel guilty about even thinking about cheating on her. She’s nice. She doesn’t deserve this.”

Octavia looks at her blankly. “It’s really creepy when you do that.”

“I’m only using my powers for good.”

“I wish I could use mine and blow Wick up,” Raven says under her breath, nursing a beer in between shots. “Or maybe just freeze his dick. Eternally.”

Clarke smiles and bums her with her shoulder. “Don’t let Maya hear you, she’ll rat you out to the Council.”

“She’s no fun,” Raven grumbles.

“He’s looking this way,” Octavia gasps. “Do your thing Clarke. Does he want me? Say the word and I’ll drag him to the back room and fuck him.”

Clarke rolls her eyes, glances at Lincoln for a second and then smirks at Octavia. “Use protection.”

Octavia is out of her seat before she can finish talking. She picks her way through the crowd easily and with a rapid grace that no mortal could ever posses. Clarke’s not the only one liberally tapping into her powers tonight.

Raven envies them, but the nature of her powers is different than her friends’ so unless she wants to go on a destructive rampage, blow shit up and probably expose magic while she’s at it, all she can really do is sit here and get drunk like any other pathetic human being. She’s doing a fantastic job of it so far, if the small pyramid of empty shot glasses before her is any indication. She’s going to hate herself in the morning, probably, but that’s a problem for hungover Raven. Drunk Raven just wants another rum and coke.

“I think I’m gonna call Bellamy,” she decides, nodding to herself. Her thought process is not the clearest presently, but yeah this makes total sense. Absolutely.

Clarke’s head jerks to the side to glare at her. “What?” she snaps.

“I’ll feel so much better afterwards, it’s perfect! I have all this energy and pent up anger inside me, just waiting to be let out. Frankly I’m surprised I didn’t think of it earlier.”

Her friend stares at her, horrified and hurt. “B-but Raven. You can’t seriously be thinking about sleeping with him.”

“Sleeping? Who said anything about – OH!” Raven `positively cackles and nearly falls off her stool. “Oh my goddess. I just want him to find me a demon to vanquish. Not fuck him.”

“Oh. I mean,” Clarke shrugs, trying to act nonchalant and failing admirably. “If you wanted to sleep with you could.”

Raven smirks. Clarke and Bellamy are a great source of entertainment for her on a daily basis, pretending to not care for each other one moment and then risking life and limb for one another the next, with a fuck load of longing looks in between. They’re pretty much doomed those two, and Raven doesn’t envy them a little bit. No matter the fact that they could very well be in love, the Council of Elders might make concessions in special cases and let Whitelighters and Witches be together, but a Witch and a Darklighter? Talk about the big no nos.

“And anyway, I don’t think he can help you. I’m pretty sure he’s on a date right now,” Clarke continues somberly, stirring her drink.

“Really?” Raven asks skeptically.

“Yeah. A half human, half manticore demon he met. They can bond about nurture overcoming their evil natures.”

Raven nods slowly, thinking. “Don’t manticores eat males after mating though?”

Clarke’s eyes widen comically. “Shit.” She scrambles for her purse and jumps to her feet, swaying slightly. She stares at Raven still perched on her stool. “Aren’t you coming? I’ll let you blow her up.”

Raven forces a smile. Despite the general appeal of vanquishing a demon, she doesn’t really feel like being around Clarke and Bellamy in the aftermath, when they are sure to be extra in love and in denial.

“Holler if you need me. I’m just gonna go home.”

Clarke reaches for her unexpectedly and draws her into a fierce one armed hug. “I love you, Raven Reyes.”

“I love you too,” she smiles against her blond hair. “Good luck.”

She stays long enough to find Octavia and tell her she’s leaving. Fortunately her seduction of Lincoln hasn’t been successful yet despite her friend’s efforts, so at least Raven doesn’t have to interrupt them in the supply closet. It would’ve been awkward.

Octavia takes the news of her brother being potentially in danger with extreme calmness. “Do you think he went out with a manticore demon without knowing what he was getting into? He probably set her up for a trap.”

“Should I call Clarke?”

“Nah.” At Raven’s look, Octavia shifts defensively. “What? I said he _probably_ is okay. Let it happen.”

So she goes home, alone, despite being approached by a couple of guys and very enthusiastic girl on her way out. She doesn’t want to do casual, to be fair Raven doesn’t even think she _can_. She wants more, but putting her heart out there hasn’t exactly worked either. Sure, a night of terrific sex would feel good, but that’s not all her soul craves. After the climax passed, she would still feel crappy.

She wants a relationship that makes her feel like she’s a whole person, not like she has to let parts of herself be chipped away to fit another person. Compromising is good and healthy, but not when she’s the only one giving in, ceding her territory and letting herself be stripped of the things that make her who she is. That’s what every relationship she has had meant for her, with only one notable exception, not that it matters.  She’s gotten her heart broken repeatedly in search for the right someone. Even when she found him it didn’t stick.

Wells was the only one she felt comfortable in her own skin with. He was supportive and perpetually in awe of her and her intellect, which was incredible because she was equally in awe of him, of the goodness of his heart, his loyalty and patiently caring nature. He made her feel safe and loved and it was so tragic when she lost him.

He was mortal but he accepted her magic and all once she got around to telling him her secret. He died during a hostage situation, trying to take down the robber and giving the other hostages a chance to get out. Raven was just in time to see him before he passed and she called Maya to heal him, but her Whitelighter gravely told her he was meant to die this way. It was his destiny to become a Whitelighter and help a lot of people find their way.

So he died. He _is_ still out there, but the Council forbids contact between new Whitelighters and the people they knew in life in order to help them move on. Two years later, Raven still misses him. Her grief was the only reason she turned to Wick, and he helped for a while. To the point where she thought she could share her secret with him and have a real relationship. But he didn’t take the news of her magic well at all and revealed a hidden, ugly part of his personality she’d been unaware of. Raven had to erase his memory, and actively tries to forget the slurs and accusations of their last interaction.

The house is silent when she gets back, as she expected. She holes up in her bed, not really ready to sleep yet and finds herself sifting through an old conjuring book, tracing the familiar pages. It was one of her favorite subjects in Magic School, and she aced it. The idea of thinking of every detail of the object to be conjured to make its creation as flawless as possible and transfer all that to the cosmos using just a few choice words and getting the expected result, was one of the most complicated and interesting aspects of witchcraft in her opinion. Octavia likes séances and Clarke potions, but Raven is the indisputable queen of spell-casting among the three.

A particular spell catches her eye. She fingers the corner of the page, reading over the words and the logistics of the spell. _To Conjure the Perfect Man_. Wouldn’t that be fucking nice. A perfect man, one who fits her just so, who can give her everything she needs. One who won’t break her heart by dying untimely or cheat on her or be a fucking racist dick. What a novel thought.

Maybe she’s a lot drunker than she thought because this is starting to look like a really good idea. The smart part of her brain protests that magic should never be performed while under the influence of alcohol because that’s when fucking disasters happen. But she never gets to have any fun. This would be fun. And she’s horny and lonely. She bets her ideal man would fuck her but good.

Decision made, Raven starts to jolt down notes of the desired qualities of her ideal man in between forming a circle of candles in the middle of her room. It’s absurdly easy to come up with all the characteristics her ideal man should have, although that might be just the alcohol in her system clouding her senses.

This will probably end badly.

When she’s ready, Raven stands outside the circle wearing only a tank top and panties with her notepad clutched to her chest.

_A perfect man I summon now,_

_Another way I don't know how._

_Bring him now into the light,_

_Come to me, Mr. Right._

White orbs flash inside the circle of candles, floating and swirling until with a burst of warm, blinding light they come together. Raven blinks, and where seconds before there was nothing now a naked man stands.

A very hot naked man. Raven may not have given much thought to his physical details as she conjured him, other than ‘built’ and ‘cheekbones’ and ‘hung’, but the end result is just shy-off perfection.

A wild mane of dark brown hair brushes his broad shoulders, teasing the sun-kissed skin trapping all those powerful muscles. His chest heaves as he takes in his surroundings. His abs ripple with the motion, candlelight shadows playing on the defined flesh. The deep, defined V of his lower belly makes Raven’s mouth water, the desire to trace her tongue over the ridge of his muscles a great one.

He is mostly hairless from what she can see, except from the stubble on his face and the mat of wiry dark hair at his crotch. His cock, large and thick, is impressive even in its current limp state.

“Who am I?”

The timbre of his voice sends shivers down Raven’s back. It’s deep, with the hint of a growl. It sounds _filthy_ , and she loves it.

He narrows his eyes – oh, his eyes. Ice blue, bright and bottomless. “Who are you?”

“My name is Raven,” she introduces herself, taking a measured step closer to him. He doesn’t yield or move closer, and continues to look at her with open suspicion. “I’m a witch and I conjured you. You’re my ideal man.”

She wishes she knew what is going on nside his head. She knows Clarke used this spell once and she mentioned that the girl she created was attuned to her every want and desire because it was her natural imperative to satisfy her. She’s sure the same core command will kick in any moment now with her ideal man.

He looks down, deep in thought. “So you’ve created me.” He glances at her, his left eyebrow notched high. “To fulfill your every need.”

He leaves the circle of candles at a slow prowl, stopping when he’s just in front of her. He’s so close that Raven can feel his warmth on her skin, her whole body vibrating with his proximity. “Basically.”

He makes a soft sound of understanding, his ice blue eyes intent on her. “Well then.”

Raven feels her heart speed up and stutter in her chest. Reaching up, he gently tucks an errant lock of hair behind her ear, hand lingering, a soft brush of his knuckles along her cheek and across her jawline. The contact electrifies her.

He tilts her chin up and slowly, very slowly closes the distance between their lips, as if he were savoring the anticipation or, maybe, giving her a chance to change her mind. When it comes, the kiss is a whisper of a promise, light and breathy, with lips brushing fleetingly. His breath is warm and pleasant. He traces the edges of her lips and Raven opens her mouth, inviting him.

He slips his hand into her hair angling her head just so, and when he deepens the kiss she is consumed in a whirlwind, holding onto his strong shoulders as her knees wobble. His other hand travels the curve of her waist and slips under her tank top, the heat of his palm searing a path as he explores her flat abdomen and small back.

He pulls back after a few moments and fluidly divests her of her top before picking her up bridal style. He goes to the bed, his ice blue gaze focused on her ravaged lips. Raven wets them for his benefit, a powerful burst of arousal surging within her as raw desire shows in his face.

He deposits her on her bed, her back propped up by the multitude of pillows she has, and stands back to look at her. He’s the image of fierce determination, brows down, jaw tight and eyes shining with purpose. He looks like he’s preparing for battle. A sensible part of Raven screams that she should be afraid, but arousal wins out.

“My purpose is to see to your needs, is it not?” he asks challengingly. Raven nods, uncertainty tickling down her spine. “Satisfy your needs, not your wants.”

Before she has time to answer, he fingers the elastic band of her panties, hooking a finger between it and her skin. He starts to pull them down, never breaking eye contact with her. Raven lifts her hips and he drags the tiny garment down her legs before tossing it back to land somewhere on her floor.

He sits on the bed, facing her, in all his naked glory. His cock, long and thick pulses and hardens under her close perusal. Raven’s mouth waters just looking at it.

He cups her knee and slowly caresses up the inside of her thigh, the pads of his fingers tracing the dent where her leg and hip meet, teasing her with the not quite contact on her pussy.

He touches her outside lips. “Is this where you need me?”

“You know it is.” Goddess, did she make him to be a fucking tease or something?

He smirks and makes a sound of amusement on the back of his throat. He cups the back of one knee and splays it to his preference, and then does the same to the other leg, leaving Raven effectively spread for his perusal. She can feel the glistening wetness in her pussy, the swollen folds ready to be paid some attention. She didn’t anticipate to be so affected by him, but she is and he is clearly enjoying the effect he has on her.

He kneels on the bed between her legs before resting on his stomach, his weight supported by his forearms. He studies her glistening cunt, his eyes burning a path on her eager flesh. When at last Raven is ready to scream at him to do something, he leans over and takes a long swipe of her with his tongue.

He eats her out aggressively. Drawing her folds between his lips, lashing at her clit, penetrating her with his tongue. His technique follows nor rhyme nor reason, so Raven can’t anticipate what’s coming next. She is left panting, eyes firmly shut and fisting his long hair for purchase. Every new move, every swipe of his tongue stokes her higher, and the slurping sounds he makes as he tastes her so voraciously echo in the room.

Raven opens her eyes for a moment, needing the visual of his head buried in her cunt. But when she raises her head and looks down find his ice blue gaze is already fixed on her face, and likely has been since he started. The knowledge slams into Raven and the tension in her belly coils tighter, ready for the final stroke that will push her over the edge.

He doesn’t shy off and look away. Raven finds she can’t, either. She is locked on his compelling eyes, hypnotized, helpless to do anything but look as he presses the flat of his tongue right over her clit and rubs it up and down, providing oh, such sweet friction.

Air leaves her lungs in a high whine as the climax explodes, sending ripples of sensation to ever corner of her being.

Half-unconscious and still reeling from the best orgasm she’s felt in the past year, Raven feels him climb atop her, kissing up her belly and lingering on her breasts. She can feel his hard cock jut out and brush against her. She opens her eyes dreamily, her body lax and placid as he rearranges her limbs to his preference.

He pushes her knees up and out against the mattress so they’re touching the sides on her breasts, and effectively tilting her hips up. She would not be able to reach this position if it wasn’t for Octavia’s black metaloga classes, but that’s neither here nor there. He obviously wants her this way, if the look of absolute and pure lust on his face is any indication, so Raven is happy to give him this, even if he’s technically only in this world to please _her_.

He holds her legs in position and looks at her questioningly, checking for a sign of discomfort and finding none. Raven doesn’t know if this sort of unspoken communication they have going on is due to the spell, but she gets a rush thinking she can read him and he her so flawlessly without the need for words. She used to have that with Wells too, stemming from long years of being in a relationship with someone and knowing them so well.

Even it’s fake, it’s a nice illusion.

She touches him everywhere, hands tripping over the bulging muscles on his arms and chest, relishing the velvety softness of his skin and the powerful strength he exudes. All thoughts vacate her brain at the first contact of his cock on her pussy. He doesn’t immediately try to penetrate her though. Hand fisted around the root of his cock, he spreads her glistening lips with the broad head, gathering the fresh wetness at her entrance and dragging it up to the clit, where he circles the sensitive bundle of nerves with slow, patient motions. Pearly precum beads on the head, mixing with her own juices.

He’s waiting for a sings from her, Raven realizes, so she wraps her arms around his broad shoulders and pulls him down for a kiss.

When he does finally push into her, it’s not without a great deal of care. He is far larger than any of her previous lovers and his entrance stretches her past the point of comfort. If he were a random guy she’s picked at the club she’s be worried he might actually hurt her and not pay attention to her needs. But he is so in tune with her that the progress of his cock inside her is slow and torturous, giving her the necessary time to adjust once he’s fully bottomed out inside her. Even then, he stays perfectly still, every muscle wired with tension and the weight of his hard dick sitting deeply within her until she’s ready for him to move.

His thrusts are long and measured at first, but the tempo increases and soon enough he’s snapping his hips against her and thrusting deep and hard just the way she wants it. Through it all, he never once takes his eyes off her face, studying her in detail and completely ignoring the – _fucking beautiful_ if Raven says so herself – sigh of his cock plundering her cunt.

She’s never felt so taken before. His strength envelops her like a hug and the force of his lust seems to penetrate her deeper on a spiritual level with every snap of his hips. What he gives her, she’s never received from anyone else before. It’s a nameless feeling but so powerful it makes her feel vulnerable and small and soft where he is so _hard_ …

The orgasm hits her unexpectedly and Raven cries, convulsing around his pounding cock. His movements lose their previous determined rhythm and he pushes against her as the force of her climax calls his forth.

With broken gasps and sweat beading on their skin, Raven pulls his face down and their lips meets lazily, numbly, both too winded to do anything but breathe each other’s air and rejoice in the delicious contact.

* * *

Raven wakes up, fabulously sore and blissed out, to the soft sound of her door closing. She opens her eyes and sees her ideal man standing with his back to her door, a fluffy towel wrapped around his hips and holding a tray piled with breakfast food.

He is _unreal_.

“I assumed you would be ravenous,” he rasps and, goddess, who talks like that and more importantly, why does she find the timbre of his voice so irresistible?

She stretches on the bed, tingling under the heat of his eyes tracing the lines of her long naked form. “Breakfast in bed, yummy. I don’t remember making you a good cook.”

The left corner of his lips lifts. “I can however read instructions.”

He sits beside her, back against the headboard and puts the tray between them.

Raven wonders idly if any of her roommates saw him prancing naked around the kitchen. Probably not though. She would know by now by the hysterical screaming.

“I helped myself to the shower,” he informs her as he starts to cut a waffle in little pieces.

Now that he mentions it, his hair is still actually wet. He’s let most of it loose, with the front pushed back and tied with a little elastic band. She stares at the little braids that weren’t there last night and smiles to herself. She never found men with long hair particularly attractive but it’s definitely working for him.

He forks a piece of waffle and holds it near her mouth. Raven makes a show of taking the morsel into her mouth and genuinely moans as she savors the buttery goodness. “Instructions my ass. Box waffles are never this good.”

He inclines his head and hides a smirk taking a sip of coffee.

She’s thinking about postponing the breakfast and jumping him instead when two people-shaped clouds of dark blue and black orbs appear at the foot of her bed. The orbs vanish revealing Bellamy and Clarke.

“Wake up Raven we need to – oh my goddess!”

Clarke’s eyes are glued to Raven’s ideal man flaccid, but still impressive, dick, swinging freely between his legs. He has jumped to his feet – lost the fucking towel – and assumed a protective stance between her and her friends in the span of a second, ready to protect her at the first sign of attack.

“Get back here!” Raven tries to pull him back to bed, but his forearm feels like cement under her fingers and he doesn’t move an inch, glaring at the newcomers.

“Are they a threat?”

“No! They’re my friends.”

He listens to her and reluctantly gets back beside her. Raven hastily arranges the bedsheets to hide his genital area from view.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Bellamy swears, dragging a hand through his messy curls. “We just exposed magic.”

“I can make him forget it,” Clarke says, though she doesn’t sound too convinced. It sounds like a definite stretch of her powers.

Raven bats the concept away with a flick of her hand. “No need for that. He knows magic is a thing.”

“When did you have time to meet someone who knows about magic? I left you in the bar getting wasted.”

“Thanks for that, by the way,” Raven says surly. Clarke has the decency to look guilty. “And, no, I didn’t exactly _meet_ him,” she explains. “I kind of, you know, conjured him.”

“Come again,” Bellamy asks flatly.

Raven sputters, feeling heat blooming on her cheeks. “I was drunk and lonely and I casted a little spell to conjure the perfect man. So what? It’s not like I’m the first to do it.”

Bellamy frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Beside him Clarke shakes her head discreetly at her, pleading with her to keep quiet. Apparently Clarke conjuring her own ideal woman once upon a time isn’t public knowledge and Raven just basically put her foot in her mouth.

“Lots of people have done it. There’s a reason why the spell exits,” Raven lies easily. Clarke shoots her a grateful smile.

Bellamy stares at her, eyebrows drawn down and lips tight, looking so put upon and disgruntled, it would be funny under other circumstances. “You conjured a sex toy.”

Her ideal man tenses beside her. “Don’t call him that,” Raven protests.

“He has a name?” Bellamy asks mildly.

Raven rolls her eyes. “Of course!” Then, to the man occupying the bed next to her. “What’s your name?”

He gives her a Single Look. “You haven’t given me one yet,” he points out.

“I’m not gonna give you a name. I’m not your mother.”

He raises an eyebrow challengingly. _But you did create me_ , his look says. Raven shifts uncomfortably.

“You have to call him something,” Clarke says.

“He can pick something himself. I’m _not_ naming him. That’s too weird,” Raven declares with finality, crossing her arms over her chest.

Bellamy’s lough sigh bounces off the walls of her room. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “We have bigger problems right now and we need your help Raven. Can you please make him go away?”

Raven purses her lips. “The spell lasts for twenty-four hours so, no.”

“Great. We have reason to believe a pack of manticores is going to attack though, so we need you focused.”

“Wait, manticores. What happened last night?”

Bellamy crosses his arms over his chest and looks down meaningfully at Clarke, who is steadfastly avoiding his eyes and shifting uncomfortably in her spot.

“I kind of blew his cover with his date last night and now the whole pack wants us dead.”

“Oh, so you did set up a trap for the manticores? Octavia said you probably had.”

“Octavia is smart, unlike some people.”

Clarke grumbles. “How was I supposed to know you were going undercover? I thought it was an actual date!”

“You’re supposed to assume I’m not a total idiot, Clarke. As if I would date a demon, Jesus.”

“Well, excuse me – ”

Raven tunes them out, turning her attention to the man beside her, studying their interaction with an intelligent gaze. She might’ve made him with the sole purpose of sleeping with him, but it’s becoming clearer by the minute that he has a mind of his own and a personality.

He must sense her gaze on him because he turns his head to look back at her. Humor flashes in the depths of his eyes and lust also, making Raven squirm under his heated stare.

A sharp whistle pulls them from the sensual trance. Raven looks up and sure enough, there is Bellamy looking annoyed and scowling, lowering his hand from his lips. “Please get rid of him so we can get to work.”

“I told you, I can’t.”

“Maybe you can lock him in your room so he stays out of harm’s way?” Clarke suggests.

Raven scowls. Her ideal man is presently impossible to read. He can’t be happy to be the subject of this conversation. Hell, he probably isn’t even happy he exists to answer to her every need.

“Is that really necessary?” she asks finally.

Bellamy stares back at her. “He’s one step removed from a blow up doll, he’s the definition of a liability.”

Now that gets a reaction out of her ideal man. He fixes Bellamy with the full force of his glare but when he speaks his question is clearly directed to Raven.

“How fond are you of that one?” he growls mildly, the deep timbre of his voice _doing things_ to her. “I would enjoy hurting him.”

Raven puts a placating hand over his thigh, feeling the rock hard muscles beneath the thin cotton sheets. “Look I created him for my own selfish reasons but I’m _not_ going to deny him the hours he has left existing. He can do whatever he wants while we take care of the demons.”

Three pairs of surprised eyes lock on her. So she didn’t mean to speak so vehemently, so what? She cares about the man beside her, this gruff, hard-edged, ideal man of hers, and she feels bad enough about making him she’s not going to lock him up.

“Bellamy,” Clarke pleads softly with him, tugging on his hand. After a moment he nods.

“I imagine Pinocchio came to this world without any clothes,” he says, and it manages to sound like an apology, somehow. “I’ll bring something.”

“I can just conjure something up,” Raven offers, already thinking about which style would fit him best.

But Bellamy shakes his head resolutely. “I think we filled the personal gain quota as it is. I’ll take care of it.”

He disappears in a cloud of dark orbs.

“I’ll be in the kitchen getting started on the vanquishing potion,” Clarke grins cheekily and gleefully slams the door shut on her way out.

A laden silence follows her exit. Raven sneaks a glance at the man next to her and finds that he’s already looking at her, eyes shining with uncanny intelligence and some emotion she can’t quite figure out.

“Interesting friends,” he says, his casual tone belying the intense nature of his stare.

Raven bites her lip and steps out of bed, tugging on her robe. She grabs clean underwear and a an outfit from her dresser, feeling more than knowing he is following her every movement with his eyes, as if she poses a mystery he wants to solve.

“I’ll just be a minute,” she says apologetically and rushes out of the room and into the hallway.

She doesn’t stop power walking until she’s locked the bathroom door behind her. She leans against it expelling a deep sigh. She makes quick use of the facilities and showers before throwing on a pair of jeans and a tank top.

Raven steps out of the bathroom toweling her hair but stops dead on her tracks when Bellamy orbs in her way. “Here,” he pushes a pair of folded jeans and a sweatshirt onto her hands.

“Thanks. Clarke is getting started on a vanquishing potion,” she informs him. “Why were you even going after the manticores anyway? I know killing demons is your favorite thing to do but to devote a Saturday night to it is just sad.”

His eyes shift away awkwardly and the tips of his ears turn red. “The Council of Elders gave me a series of tasks,” he says in a low voice.

“What for?”

“To… prove I’m worthy of being changed into a Whitelighter.”

“What? They can’t do that!” Raven scowls. Then, uncertain. “ _Can_ they do that?”

He shrugs.

“But I thought you didn’t mind. I mean, it’s not like you turned into a Darklighter because you’re evil, you were born one, it’s part of your biology. Just like being part witch. And you’ve proved you’re good.”

He shakes his head, hands fisted at his hips. “They won’t ever let be with her if I’m still part Darklighter. They’ll ship me off to Purgatory. _Again._ ”

Raven stares at him. “You’re doing this for Clarke?” she asks and he nods. “Does she know?”

“No, and you can’t tell her.”

“You’d actually do this? Change some fundamental part of yourself just to be with her?”

He shrugs. “I love her.”

Longing hits her like a sack of bricks. Here she is, one bad relationship after another, having conjured a perfect specimen of masculinity because she was lonely, and Bellamy is going through an epic quest of Greek proportions just to get a shot at being with a girl he loves. Could she be any more pathetic?

“Raven? Are you okay?” he asks worriedly.

She clears her throat. “Yeah. Just uh – hungry. You interrupted my breakfast remember.”

“You should ask your clay man to make you a sandwich.”

And the funny thing is, she _knows_ he means it as a joke, but she takes it like a punch square to her gut and she low key wants to lock herself in the bathroom to have a good cry.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

She nods with a troubling amount of enthusiasm. “Why don’t I take this,” she shakes the clothes in her hands “and you go check on that potion. We have demon ass to kick.”

Bellamy looks like he wants to call out her bullshit, but he nods after a moment and walks away. Raven pinches the bridge of her nose, taking deep breaths and trying to get a hold of her confusing emotions.

_Snap out of it, Reyes. You have work to do and a perfect man waiting for you. Move your ass._

Pep-talk done and over with, Raven crosses the hallway and slips back into her bedroom.

“I have a name.”

Raven stops just inside the threshold, already mentally exhausted and it’s not even lunch time.

Her ideal man is still very much naked but he’s at least upgraded from the towel and covering the most distracting bits of his anatomy with a sheet draped low on his hips and pooling at his feet. He’s all sharp edges and defined muscles wherever she looks and Raven curses Bellamy and his epic quest for getting in the way of what would’ve been a day of highly pleasurable sex with the raw example of masculinity standing before her.

“You do?” she asks, closing the door behind her.

He holds out an open book for her, one from her small collection. Their fingers brush quite deliberately on his part as he passes it onto her hands. Raven has to forcibly get ahold of herself and the desire pooling low in her belly before she concentrates on the text presented to her.

“ _A wizard of Nordic origins, Roan once possessed vast magical abilities,_ ” she reads aloud. “ _His main power was cryokinesis as he could create and manipulate ice and cold, and he habitually created snow storms for the entertainment of the village’s children. He was also a skilled conjurer. He reportedly created a man and a woman from carving two trees._ He was awesome, but why do you want to be named after him?”

His brow furrows slightly as he considers her question. “I think I would like the cold. The snow. I imagine how it would feel like against my skin and it feels like – ” he struggles to find the right word for a moment, glancing away almost embarrassed. “Like home.”

Raven’s heart stutters painfully in her chest. The spell to conjure the ideal man was supposed to create a gratuitous version of a man that would suit all her needs, a blank slate onto which she could pour all the characteristics she would want and nothing else. The result would’ve been pleasing and exactly what she wanted, but the person created would be artificial and two-dimensional, unable to have desires and needs of his own.

Yet the man standing in front of her is _real_. He yearns for the concept of home despite the purpose of his creation. He is so much more than she ever thought she’d get when she casted that stupid spell, and when the twenty four hours are up he’ll be just gone. He must harbor so much bitterness and resentment for her. She created him for selfish reasons, yet he is getting a taste of life and he wants so much more than she can give him.

“Okay then. Roan,” she says softly, the name rolling pleasingly past her lips. “It suits you.”

He acknowledges her with a small nod, his intense gaze never leaving her face.

“This is for you.”

Raven hands him the folded clothes. Again their fingers brush but her heart is too heavy to appreciate it.

“Appreciated,” Roan rasps.

She turns her back while he changes. It’s not a lot, but at least she can give him a little privacy. It’s probably stupid given that she conjured him basically to have sex with him, but. At least it’s something.

Despite their best efforts to prepare for it when the manticores attack it still takes them by surprise.

They’re in the living room, Octavia sitting cross-legged on the floor poring over a map and scrying for the pack’s location, still wearing the dress from the night before and on the receiving end of Bellamy’s Concerned Big BrotherTM glare. Raven and Clarke are going over everything they know about the manticores. They are upper level carnivorous demons with super strength and speed and venomous claws. Their females mate with humans to create hybrids, allowing their demonic children to blend into the mortal world and prey on the innocent. A vanquishing potion is required to kill them, which they already have thanks to Clarke.

During the preparations Roan stays mostly out of the way, but close to Raven. Not overbearingly so, but whenever she looks over her shoulder she finds him with his arms crossed over his chest and leaning his shoulder against the doorframe, less than three feet away from her, watching the proceedings and the group dynamics with interest.

Before Octavia can get a lock on their lair, five manticores shimmer at strategic spots in the living room, their high-pitched cries deafening and confusing them for a vital moment.

One shimmers right behind Clarke and makes a grab for her throat with his deadly claws before she can react. But Bellamy, always attuned to her, sends him hurling back in the air with a wide swing of his arm. The manticore crashes against the wall and crumbles down.  A crossbow appears in Bellamy’s hand and he shoots an arrow at the demon before he shimmers away.

Meanwhile, Octavia fights hand to hand with another manticore, attempting to draw it into a corner so that Clarke can vanquish it with her potion.

Two demons close in on Raven. She puts up her hands in front of her pointing at the nearest demon. An explosion hits him square in the chest and he cries out sharply in pain, but he doesn’t blow up like a weaker demon would. The other manticore advances rapidly past his incapacitated packmate but before he can attack her Roan growls, throwing himself at him and hitting him square in the face. Upon contact with his fist, the demon’s jaw blows up and he falls back.

He staggers under Roan’s vicious blows, but he doesn’t let up the attack. He causes considerable damage every time he strikes the demon, enough to slow him down but not kill him.

Raven continues to attack her own manticore, refusing to lose ground. She ducks behind the couch flicking her hand blindly at the demonnd blowing up his limbs one by one. She sneaks a glance over the back of the couch and sees an injured Clarke duck an attack from the demon and throw a vial of the potion at his feet, holding her bleeding right arm to her and staring at the demon as it consumes itself and dies.

All the manticores are gone, with the exception of the one Roan is fighting now. Clarke passes Raven a vial of vanquishing potion and tilts her head towards Roan.

She wastes no time getting it to him. He senses her presence instantly, tearing his eyes from the bloody demos he is holding suspended in midair by the neck.

“I got this,” she tells him, showing him the small vial of clear purple potion.

He nods and drops the demon. Raven quickly hurls the vial at him, vanquishing him before he has a chance to shimmer away.

“Are you okay?” she asks, cupping his face in her hands. She stands on her tiptoes, his hands bracketing her hips and holding her flush against him.

The kiss takes her breath away, all raw need. Their tongues clash and tangle and she clings to his shoulders, reassured by his strong presence that he is okay. Her heart bangs against her ribcage, the adrenaline still coursing through her veins. Raven buries her face on Roan’s chest, breathing him in, hearing his own thundering heartbeat. His arms are steel bands around her back, holding her close within his embrace.

“One got away but I shot it with one of my arrows. I can sense where he is and take care of what’s left of the pack.”

Bellamy’s voice pulls her back and she slowly detaches from Roan. He lets her go and turn to face her friends, but keeps an arm around her.

“I’ll go with,” Octavia states, rising from her crouched position next to a bleeding Clarke, who is perched on the couch.

He shakes his head. “No. Stay with her. Make sure Maya heals her.”

Bellamy’s eyes linger on Clarke. She smiles bravely at him, despite her paleness and the deep looking claw marks on her arm. “I’m fine. It doesn’t hurt much.”

He swallows thickly. With a small flick of his hand, the remaining vials of potion sitting in the coffee table fly towards him. With them in his possession, Bellamy orbs out.

As soon as he goes, Clarke crumbles onto the couch and her face twists with pain. “It’s actually pretty bad,” she whimpers. “I can’t feel my arm at all but the rest of me hurts like a bitch.”

“Maya!” Octavia calls, at the verge of panicking.

White and light blue orbs appear next to her instantly. As they fade, Maya becomes visible, lovely as usual on a yellow sundress and smiling. “Hi girls – oh my goddess!” she goes directly to Clarke, inspecting her injury. “What happened?”

“Manticore demon. Can you fix her?”

Maya doesn’t waste time answering. She cups her hands inches above Clarke’s hurt arm and a warm yellow light radiates from them. Seconds later she removes her hands and Clarke’s arm is as good as new, no trace of the claw marks.

Raven tilts her head back and looks at Roan. He’s taking in the scene with his usual level of quiet attention and intelligence.

“You haven’t freaked out at all,” she muses. “Magic, demons, nothing fazes you. How is that possible?”

“Yes also. He has powers,” Octavia points out.

Roan shrugs. “You created me. Magic is ingrained in me the same way I can read instructions from a box and operate the shower.”

“Yeah, that I get,” Octavia scowls at him, her untrusty nature surfacing. “But your fists blow stuff up on impact. That’s gotta be an active ingredient of the spell.”

“Spell? What are we talking about here?” Maya inquires, confused.

“Raven conjured her ideal man for twenty four hours,” Clarke supplies. “Meet Roan.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Roan says, offering a courtly bow.

Raven doesn’t know if she purposely made him to be a passive aggressive dick or if he just _is_ , but oh goddess, he’s hitting so many specific turns ons of hers.

“Punch the wall.”

He looks at her to gauge the seriousness of her request before doing as she asked.

Roan makes a definite dent on the drywall but it doesn’t blow up. Raven frowns. “Contact is not the trigger…” she says under her breath. “Okay, do it again but pretend the wall poses an actual, imminent threat to my personal safety.”

He chuckles, low and deep in his throat. This time when he punches the wall he blows a hole through it, making a little window into the foyer.

“Another time, but this time don’t actually hit the wall.”

He goes through the motions, a mask of fierce concentration on his face. His fist doesn’t make contact with the wall and nothing happens.

Raven smiles triumphaly at her friends. “See?”

Clarke shakes her head. “No.”

“You’re paying to get that fixed, just so you know,” Octavia adds.

Raven rolls her eyes. “I didn’t actually give Roan powers; he has a form of mine. When I do this,” she tells him, waving her right hand in the direction of a little clay cat figurine lining the fireplace, blowing it up. “I make molecules speed up to the point of causing an explosion. You kind of do the same with your fists, but you need actual contact with the object to blow it up, whereas I can do it remotely.”

“Okay, but my question stands,” Octavia insists, impatient. “How did he get an active power if you didn’t consciously mean for him to have one?”

“Because I wanted him to be able to protect himself,” Raven says, barely refraining from attaching a _duh_ at the end of her sentence. She doesn’t understand what the problem is here. He has a power and it helped. He did a lot of damage to that demon and it looked far more satisfying that blowing him up from afar. “If he was just like any other mortal he could just get randomly shot and die just like – ” Raven stops herself before she can finish that sentence, but Wells name hangs heavy in the air. “At least I gave him a fighting chance.”

Roan stiffens beside her. Octavia’s eyebrows rise so high on her forehead they’ll probably leave permanent lines. Maya looks like she’s paying condolences at a funeral.

“Why would he need a fighting chance if he’s only here for twenty four hours?” Clarke asks softly, lips pursed on a sad line.

“Well, he obviously did just need it so I made a good fucking call,” Raven barks.

“Roan is it?” Maya says suddenly, directing her beaming smile at him. She hooks her arm around his. “Do you like tea? Let’s go fix some.”

He shoots Raven a quick alarmed glance before letting Maya drag him away to the kitchen.

Raven sighs heavily once he’s gone and sinks into the couch with her elbows resting on her knees, her face buried in her hands. “I’m in trouble aren’t I?”

Her friends sit beside her, offering small comforts. Octavia runs a soothing hand down her back while Clarke squeezes her thigh.

“Do you remember junior year high school?” Clarke asks. “When I first started thinking I might actually like girls too? I used the same spell to conjure the perfect woman. I named her Niylah,” she smiles fondly, remembering her. “Like the nymph. She helped me figure out I was bisexual. I used my powers on her, to read her. They weren’t as developed as they are now, but going into her mind I could still feel how different she was from real people. She didn’t have anything of her own. She wasn’t a mindless automata but every choice, every thought she had was within the frame I gave her when I created her.”

Dread closes around Raven’s heart, knowing what Clarke is going to say.

“I read Roan and… it was really, really hard for me to find any similarity to what I experienced with Niylah. His mind is almost exactly like human being’s, for a moment I thought you were joking and you hadn’t actually made him.”

“Are you saying he’s real?” Octavia gapes.

Clarke nods gravely. “In all the ways that matter with the exception that when the spell runs its course he’ll cease to exist.”

A small whimper escapes Raven. “How can this happen? I used the same spell.”

“You always were the best conjuror,” Octavia offers with a wry smile. “All our teachers said so.”

“I think it also has to do with your skill with machines. You look past the whole and pay special attention to the parts because the end result is a direct product of the harmony between them. I think when you casted the spell, you were using that part of yourself, even subconsciously. Also, I made Niylah strictly for a sexual purpose, but when you conjured Roan you wanted a connection. So you made him, for all intents and purposes, real.”

Raven draws a ragged breath, tears threatening to begin flowing. “What am I supposed to do? I can let him just disappear. It’d be like letting him die.”

Clarke and Octavia envelop her in a hug, piling up on her and supporting her as her body is wreaked by sobs. “There might be another way,” Clarke says softly and hope kindles in Raven’s heart. She tears herself away from her friends and stares at her pleadingly to offer her an impossible solution. “But one way or another you need to let him go.”

* * *

“If I were unhappy I would complain,” Roan says, his tone teasing.

Raven smiles sadly. “I know you would. But I also know you want more.”

His brows knit together, studying her closely. Roan touches her hand but Raven takes a step back, putting some distance between them. Hurt flashes briefly in his eyes.

“Take this.” She gives him a small vial of clear blue potion, the color the exact same shade of his eyes. “You’ll be free.”

“Free,” he repeats, closing his fist around the vial.

“Real,” Raven clarifies. “A real person. Your own person. I already talked to Maya, she’s going to take you wherever you want to go make sure you’re settled. You can have the life you choose.”

“You would do this for me.”

She nods, too choked up to say anything.

He looks at her for a long moment. Then he uncaps the vial and drinks the potion.

A glimmer of light surrounds him momentarily.

“How can we know if it worked?”

“I think you’ll just know.”

Roan closes his eyes, a ragged sigh escaping him. The corners of his lips tick up just slightly and when he looks at her again, his eyes are brilliant and clear. Just like that, she knows too.

“Thank you.”

He takes her hand and this time she lets him. He lifts it to his lips, places a kiss on the back of her hand and then, greedy for more contact, he turns her hand and brushes his lips on the inside ofher wrist. Raven’s eyes brim with tears. Roan cups her cheek, tenderly wiping a fat tear off her cheek with his thumb.

“Raven?”

Maya’s soft voice startles her. Raven wishes she could stay in this moment forever, with him. But it’s time she let him go.

She smiles up at him, her heart heaving. “May we meet again.”

Roan leans down andresses his lips to hers one last time, whispering the words “May we meet again.”

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! Obviously this isn’t the end. There are at least two more parts to this series, one for bellarke and the other to pick up where this left off. 
> 
>  
> 
> [ This is me ](http://www.bellohmyblake.tumblr.com)


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